Page 20 of Sweater Weather (Sapphire Falls Orchard #1)

TWENTY

Bells

“ I s there a wrong way to mix?” I ask as Tilly pours ingredients into the bowl.

“Just stir in every direction until there aren’t any lumps,” she says.

I can cook a few things, but I’ve never been a baker. So I take the wooden spoon and mix around as much as I can. She’s still adding things, so I pause each time she does.

“Do you want to cut up the apples or help me make the filling?” she asks as we wait for the latest batch of dough to proof.

“Uh, I can do either with some instructions.”

“Take a seat, take this peeler, and start peeling apples. There’s no wrong way, but we don’t want any skin. It doesn’t taste as good when it’s cooked,” she instructs.

“Do you guys do the pie-eating contest every year?” I ask.

“Yes, it was Benny’s idea. She’d been doing it for at least five years before I got here,” Tilly says.

“Wow, so it’s a tradition of sorts.”

“Yeah. I think she started it because it was something your family does every year.”

“What?” I stop peeling to look at Tilly.

“What? That’s what she told me.” Tilly looks at me cautiously.

“That’s really weird,” I mumble.

“Who’s that?”

“My family is like the CEOs of being fancy. I can’t imagine them ever wanting to compete in a pie-eating contest. The mess alone would stress them enough to get more Botox.” I shake my head, trying to imagine my mother doing one.

“I believe she said when everyone is a kid, it’s a family tradition. But everyone grows up and then it stops. So she brought it here to relive a little of that magic,” Tilly explains.

I smile. It’s nice hearing about my aunt but also learning a little bit of the family lore that I’d otherwise never know about.

It’s not like my parents ever went around talking about their childhoods.

As far as they’re concerned, anything in the past doesn’t count—unless it can make them money.

Which is probably why they keep me around.

My mother has been hounding me for months now.

Why haven’t I sold yet? Why haven’t I signed over the place to them?

What’s the big hold-up, and why am I spending so much time up here?

I haven’t seen them since the funeral, but even though I suggested she come see the place, she still said no.

To her, this place is something to inherit, and if she can’t squeeze any money out of it, then she isn’t interested.

I’m a little worried that things might change if she gets wind of how well we’re doing.

We’re making a profit again, and it has only taken a few weeks.

I don’t want her to show up and try to take the place to the bank now that I’ve turned things around.

So for the time being I keep telling her I’m working on things and, when I can, I’ll be selling the place.

It’s a lie. I know I have no intention of selling, but it’s easier than trying to explain it to my family.

They’d probably ostracize me the way they did my aunt.

If you don’t run in the same circles they do, they don’t talk to you.

I refocus on peeling the apples, making sure I don’t accidentally peel the skin off my fingers.

I’m not sure that’s something I can do, but I don’t want to find out.

Each peeled apple goes into a bowl, which Tilly takes and slices into small cubes.

She says the smaller the pieces, the easier the apples bake in the pie.

Nothing is worse than biting into a pie and it still being raw.

“Do you make the top look different?” I ask.

“What do you mean? Like the pie lattice?” she asks, confused.

Of course, she knows that’s what it’s called. “Yes.”

“We could. I usually do the standard apple-pie lace. What do you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure, but maybe we could make them all different? It might add to the marketability of the event,” I suggest.

“I think I have cookie cutters here somewhere.” She pauses to look around the kitchen and comes across a bucket of shapes. She looks through them and pulls out ones that are different-sized apples, hearts, and leaves.

“Very festive,” I nod.

“Is there a certain way to do it? I don’t think I’ve ever used a cookie cutter,” I say sheepishly.

“Even to make cookies?” She chuckles.

“Uh, only if you count the ones that come precut that you place on a tray,” I admit.

“Come here.” She waves me over.

Wrapping her arms around my body, she puts her hands on top of mine.

She grabs the dough from the fridge she’s cooling and puts the dough I just mixed in the fridge to settle.

She has me push the dough with a roller, then with my hands, until it’s perfectly flat.

Then she places the cookie cutters along the dough as close as possible, cutting out a variety of shapes.

“We still have to make the inside of the apple pies, but that doesn’t take too long, and it would be good to let these chill a bit in the fridge,” Tilly says.

“Okay.” I nod. She gets a tray, covers it with parchment paper, and then dusts some flour over it.

“If you dust your hands in the flour, it helps keep the dough from sticking to you,” she explains.

“Got it.” I stick my hands in the bag and coat them, but Tilly starts laughing. “What?”

“I sort of mean just a little.” She laughs.

“Well, it’s too late now.” I shrug and start moving the dough shapes to the tray.

When I’m done, my hands are still covered in flour, so I poke Tilly’s nose gently, leaving some behind.

She laughs and pokes me in the cheek with her flour-covered hand.

I take a little more on my hand and go to poke her face again, but when she moves at the last second, I end up covering her cheek completely.

My jaw drops, but Tilly doesn’t miss a beat and grabs a handful to dump on my head.

We’re hysterical, laughing at this point, just wasting the flour.

As we toss it at each other, some falls to the floor, and as I move to get her, I end up falling on my ass.

“Oh, shit!” She stumbles toward me with a hand extended to help me, but I’m all laughs when I use her hand to pull her to the floor with me. Except she ends up falling right over me, and her body collapses on mine.

Her body is on top of me, and I gasp at the close contact. All I can smell is fresh-cut grass and apples. I don’t know if that’s her natural scent or some kind of body wash, but either way I want to keep smelling it.

“I want you,” she growls in my ear.

“What about the pies?”

“The dough’s in the fridge. We can always finish later…” Her voice trails, thick with lust as she looks me over. It’s as if she’s looking right through my clothes to picture me naked. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Okay.” I nod, my cheeks burning. I think we’re going to head to the bedroom, but she doesn’t get off me and instead starts kissing my neck.

“Are we going to do it here?” I ask as she uses one hand to untie the apron.

“Yes. I want you right here. Right now,” she murmurs as she nibbles on my earlobe.

Our flour-stained hands paw at each other with just as much hunger.

She slides her legs over me so she can straddle me while she leans in for a kiss.

I taste a bit of flour as our lips meet, and we both laugh.

I grab her body, pulling her ass toward me as she grinds on me.

Her tongue slips in my mouth, and I groan at the familiar taste.

She’s unbuttoning my top, and I can feel her fingertips brushing against the skin on my chest, making goose bumps appear.

I tug at her T-shirt, pulling it over her head, thanking every god when I see she’s not wearing a bra, and dip my head to attach my mouth to her nipple.

“Holy fuck.” She moans, her head falling back as I suck harder.

I hum against her skin, my shirt getting tossed aside.

Her skin is so soft, even smoother with the bit of flour still left on it.

Her hands reach for my breasts, and she tugs on my nipples tightly.

Groaning, I suck harder on hers. Rotating her hips, she grinds, trying to get more friction with my lower body, so I buck my hips toward her.

I slide my hands into the back of her sweats and grab her ass through her panties.

They’re nothing special—just black cotton—but her tight ass is amazing.

Her tongue dances across my lips as she pulls me in for a kiss.

I can’t get enough of her lips, and I just want to keep kissing her as long as I possibly can.

She slides off my lap and next to me on the floor.

Our bodies rock against each other as she slides her leg between my thighs, and I groan.

Her knee brushes against my pussy, and I want to risk everything to have her fuck me right now.

She’s kissing my neck, sucking gently. I wonder if she’s going to leave a mark.

But truthfully, I wouldn’t care. It’s not like I care if anyone else knows about us—or whatever the hell this is.

This time we have to talk about things. We can’t hook up for a third time without being adults about it.

It’s time to face the music and know where we stand once and for all.

Tilly unbuttons my jeans and tugs them off, letting them fall to the side of us.

Clad in just my thong, my ass is freezing on the cool tile floor, but I’m not complaining.

I’m overheated everywhere else from Tilly.

Her warm body and my skin are lava with how turned on I am from her.

She pays my breasts attention, taking my nipples between her teeth and tugging roughly.

Watching her green eyes gleam at me while she does is another level of hot.

How the fuck am I supposed to think clearly when she looks at me like this?

I can feel the desire dripping from her fingers.

I’ve never had someone with this kind of want before.

I know I’m soaked without her even touching my pussy—seeping through the very thin fabric of my thong.

She reaches for my panties, but I move at the last second.

“I think we should take this to the bedroom—or at least wash our hands first,” I say, pulling away. Stopping is the last thing I want to do, but with the food on our hands, I can’t imagine that being good for our bodies.

“Shower?” Tilly’s eyes twinkle. I nod, and she extends a hand as she stands up. This time I take it, letting her help me up off the floor.

“Do you remember where my bedroom is?” she asks.

“Yes?” I raise an eyebrow, and she smiles.

“Good. The door on the left is the bathroom. I’ll be right behind you.

” She winks. Slapping my ass, I start up the stairs, and I can feel her eyes on my ass the whole time.

Laughing, I race up the stairs, carrying my breasts so they don’t hit me in the face.

She’s only seconds behind me, pulling my hand back into hers.